


Withstanding Fate

by The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season 2 AU, athelstan is the subbiest sub, eventual femdom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1306387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tears_of_nienna/pseuds/The%20Librarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lagertha leaves, Athelstan goes with her. Season 2 AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: canonical levels of violence.

When Ragnar appeared in the hall, with Aslaug behind him, heavy with child, Lagertha did not have to hear a word spoken to know what had happened.

She drew back and punched Ragnar in the face.

* * *

"You should not have hit him like that."

She snorted. “I should have borne the insult without a word?”

"No. But you wouldn’t have split your knuckles if you had hit him in the stomach." Athelstan took her hand, wiping some of the blood away with a damp cloth. They were alone in a corner of the hall for now, but the peace was not likely to last.

Lagertha’s lips parted on a bitter laugh. “I wanted it to show. He shamed me, and I wanted him to share in it. Everyone will know that I gave him that mark, and they will know it was earned.”

It  _had_  been a stunning blow; Athelstan had seen it happen. The bruise would stand out on Ragnar’s cheekbone, and the story of how it had come to be would spread like fire.

Lagertha sighed. “But bruises fade.”

"You could always hit him again," Athelstan suggested.

She smiled, though he had not intended it to be a joke. “No,” she said. “I think I have made my point.”

"What will you do now?"

When Lagertha spoke again, it was not precisely an answer. “When it is born, the child will be raised as any child of the Jarl—in his home. And so his mother must be always nearby, as well.” She sighed. “It is done. I cannot even pray for something ill to befall her—that is a grief I would not wish on anyone.”

"And so you hit Ragnar, because you could do nothing else."

"Yes."

Athelstan was silent for a moment. “Will you leave?”

"How can I leave? A woman alone, without a family or a home…" She shook her head. "I would be fighting every moment of my life. And perhaps I would win most of the battles…but most is not enough."

Athelstan looked down at the bowl of clean water in his lap. “And what if you were not alone?” he asked, very softly.

Lagertha looked up, her eyes sharp. “What are you saying, Athelstan?”

"Nothing. Only that…you would not need to go alone."

"You would go with me?"

He bowed his head. “If you would allow it.”

"Hm. You  _are_  a fair cook and housekeeper,” she mused.

"I know it is not usual, for a woman to go on raids while a man tends the hearth. But we could find a village somewhere, and settle there—"

"And raise a family?" she asked bitterly.

Athelstan shrugged. “We could  _be_  a family.”

She smiled then, more amused than truly happy, but since Gyda’s death, anything that coaxed her out of grimness was a victory. “Would I call you husband, then?”

Athelstan paused to consider the idea. “Only where other people could hear us,” he decided.

She nodded. “And would you come to my bed, as a husband to his wife?”

"Lagertha!"

"Come, Athelstan, we are talking of dreams now. Tell me you would come to my bed."

"I—" His voice cracked and failed him. "The winters here are colder than any I have ever known. It would make little sense for both of us to suffer the chill in our own beds."

"You would keep me warm?"

"Of course, my lady."

"You would lie beneath the blankets with me, so that we could share the heat of our bodies with each other?"

"Yes." His face grew hot, and he could not meet her eyes.

"You would put your arms around me, and hold me to you?"

Speechless, he nodded.

"And then what would you do,  _husband_?” she teased.

Athelstan blinked. “Then, as always, I would wake from my dream.”

Her eyes turned soft, considering, and Athelstan realized he had said too much. She let the confession pass without comment, pulling her hands away from his to examine the cleaned cuts. “Enough,” she said, but gently. “I will not hold you to your words…but I thank you for them, nonetheless.”

She rose to her feet and took a slow, deep breath. She drew herself up, lifted her head, and stepped out into the great hall to face the whispers and the scorn and the pity of Kattegat.

 Leaving Athelstan alone.


	2. Chapter 2

It was spring again, and Aslaug’s son grew strong and healthy. There was no escaping the sight of mother and child, and Athelstan could see the way that Lagertha suffered for Aslaug’s constant presence. Always fearsome, she grew silent and cold.

One morning, Ragnar lifted the child in his arms, and suggested to Aslaug that they try for another.

That evening, Siggy came to Athelstan and told him that Lagertha wanted him. He found her in the bedroom she had shared with Ragnar, calmly packing her things. “My lady?”

She looked up at him, and then turned away to fold another piece of clothing into her pack. “I am leaving,” she said. “Do you still wish to join me?”

"If you want me to go with you, then I will."

She stopped her work and turned to face him. “It will not be easy. Even if we claim each other, we will still be alone, and there will be those who will prey on us if they can. If Ragnar is angry enough, he may even send his own men to bring us back—or to kill us. We will be poor and cold and often hungry, and we may die of it. Now tell me truly, priest—do you wish to join me?”

"Yes."

She nodded, and though she did not smile, Athelstan thought she was pleased. “Then gather your things.”

It did not take him long; even though he was no longer a slave, there was little enough that he could call his own, and less still that he would need when they left Kattegat.

When he returned, Lagertha nodded and lifted her pack. “Come, then,” she said.

Athelstan hesitated. “Should we not wait until nightfall?”

She turned back with a contemptuous look—but Athelstan did not think the contempt was aimed at  _him_. “I will not slip away in the darkness like a thief. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

A coil of worry tightened low in Athelstan’s gut, but he followed her out of the house and into the street. Their path, he knew, would take them straight through the village, and Ragnar could hardly miss their leaving. Every step they took brought them closer to inevitable confrontation, but he could not bring himself to turn back.

Someone must have run ahead of them, because Ragnar was waiting before the hall, leaning in the doorway. He stepped forward as though to block their passing. “Where are you going?”

Lagertha raised her head. “Why should you care?”

"You are my  _wife_.”

"Am I? Or is  _she_?” Lagertha said coldly. “You acted dishonorably, and you know it. These are the consequences of your actions—accept them with the grace that befits the Jarl of Kattegat.” She slipped past him and strode off toward the edge of the village.

It seemed almost as though he would let them walk away, but when Athelstan made to follow Lagertha, Ragnar caught his arm and hauled him back.

"You cannot take the priest!" Ragnar snapped.

"Yes, she can," Athelstan countered, twisting out of Ragnar’s grasp.

"You are not hers to take.  _I_ brought you from England.  _I_ claimed you as spoils.”

A strange anger seemed to rise up in Athelstan, and he met Ragnar’s fury with his own. “And  _you_  would have sacrificed me to your gods in Uppsala. If you had your way, I would be dead, so what loss is it to you?”

Ragnar took a step closer, towering over him. “Are you fucking my wife?” he growled.

Athelstan gathered all his courage and stood his ground. “I do not think you have a right to question Lagertha’s faithfulness,” he said quietly.

Shame sharpened the fury in Ragnar’s eyes, but he stepped back. “She would break you in half, anyway,” he said. He waved a hand. “Be gone, both of you. You cause me more trouble than you are worth.”

Athelstan followed Lagertha without looking back. They passed through the village with all eyes upon them, but no one tried to stop them. No one even spoke, until they reached the very edge of the village.

"Mother."

Lagertha looked up, and for the first time Athelstan saw her hesitate. “Bjorn…”

He stepped out from the shadow of a tree. “So it’s true. You’re leaving.”

"Not because I wish to. I cannot stay here; do you understand that?"

"Yes," he said, but Athelstan knew it for the lie it was.

Lagertha sighed. “Your father will be angry about this…and then I think he will be hurt by it, which will only make him angrier. Look after him, and—your brother, as well. Whatever has happened, it is not the child’s fault.”

"Where will you go?"

"I cannot say. I will try to send word to you."

Bjorn’s hands curled into fists. “I am sorry I could not stop him from—from what he did.”

She bent and kissed the top of her son’s head. “That was not your duty. You are a good son, and you will be a great man. I love you very much,” she said. “Fight well.”

He nodded. “You should not take the priest. He needs too much looking after.”

"I’ll miss you, too," Athelstan said with a faint smile.

Bjorn snorted and turned away, back towards the village.

It was harder to walk on than Athelstan had expected. It seemed that Lagertha felt the same, but they pressed on without a word until well after nightfall. Lagertha led the way, following a path or an instinct that Athelstan could not hope to understand.

They made what camp they could beneath the trees that night, sharing a cold meal because they could not risk a fire. The smoke rising through the trees might be seen for miles. “How far are we from Kattegat?” Athelstan asked.

"Not far enough," she replied. "I will keep watch. I do not think that Ragnar will send his men to kill us in our sleep—but just the same, I would not like to die without taking a few of them along with me."

"But you must sleep…"

She waved a hand. “I will wake you at moonrise, and you may take your turn.”

That, at least, would solve the problem of their bedrolls, laid out side-by-side and far too close together for Athelstan’s comfort. If they took turns on the watch, there would be no time for temptation to work upon them.

He felt it already—they were alone now. There was no other in the world on whom they could rely for protection, for comfort. For companionship.

Athelstan shivered with a chill that was not born of the cold mist.

Lagertha looked at him. “Do you remember what we talked of, the day that Ragnar returned with Aslaug?”

"Yes," Athelstan said softly. Perhaps her thoughts were traveling the same path as his.

Lagertha reached into her pack and withdrew a ring of hammered gold. She held it out to him. “Take this.”

Athelstan hesitated.

"It is a part of our illusion," she said gently. "It means no more than we allow it to mean."

Athelstan slid the ring onto his finger. It matched one that Lagertha wore, different from the ring that had signified her marriage to Ragnar.

_That_  ring was nowhere to be seen. Anyone who met them on the road would think that they were bonded to each other. They would know nothing of Ragnar or Aslaug, nothing indeed of Kattegat at all. Athelstan twisted the gold band on his finger.

Lagertha smiled. “Go to sleep,  _husband_ ,” she said lightly. “Moonrise will come far sooner than you would like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any information about Viking wedding traditions (including the fact that there were rings involved) comes from [this amazing essay](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/wedding.shtml) from the Viking Answer Lady.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger on the road.

 

They walked for two more days before Lagertha allowed that they should rest a while. 

"No more than a day," she said. "But we cannot travel so forever."

By which she meant that _Athelstan_ could not travel so forever. Though he was much changed from the man he'd been when first he had come to Kattegat, he did not have Lagertha's strength, and he was aching with exhaustion.

Athelstan sat on a fallen tree, wondering if they could perhaps risk building a fire. A warm meal would go a long way towards banishing the grimness and the chill that had begun to settle in both of them.

"On your feet," Lagertha said. "We are not walking today; that does not mean you may be idle."

Athelstan rose, his weariness banished, if not entirely forgotten. "Whatever my lady requires--"

She threw an axe at him.

_To_ him, rather; Athelstan realized the difference nearly too late, and had to scramble to catch the falling axe by its haft. He was fortunate not to lose any fingers in the attempt.

"My lady?" he asked, looking up at her.

"You will need to know enough to defend yourself. I cannot always be around you, you know."

"I know." So this was to be the day's work. Athelstan hefted the axe in one hand, holding it loosely as he had seen Lagertha do in the past. "What shall I do?"

She showed him how to strike and feint, how to dodge a blow and turn an opponent's weaknesses against him. Before long, his hands were raw and his arms were aching. He began to wish that they had kept walking; this was no sort of rest.

Finally, she nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good."

Athelstan tucked the axe into his belt.

"Not yet," she said. "Now we practice."

" _That_ was not practice?" Athelstan asked, frowning.

"That was teaching--now you must practice what you have learned. Every day, until you can wield your axe while you are drunk or ill or injured. If you cannot rise from your sleep already fighting, you will not live long."

Athelstan wearily drew the axe from his belt, and Lagertha attacked him. She turned her blade each time she might have landed a blow, so that Athelstan collected only bruises instead of scars.

He was not precisely sure _how_ it happened, but suddenly he was lying face-down on the trampled earth of their practice ground. Lagertha knelt beside him, one knee on his back and the blade of her axe just touching the nape of his neck. "Take every advantage you can," she told him. "There is no point in clinging to honor if it kills you." She rose and pulled him to his feet. "Again."

She knocked him down three more times. On the fourth try, as she stepped in close, Athelstan caught her braided hair in one hand and pulled her off-balance. She recovered and jabbed her elbow at his chest, forcing him to let go.

" _Well_ done," she said with a sharp smile.

Athelstan blinked, shocked at the praise, and Lagertha dumped him to the ground again.

 

* * *

 

They traveled on for two weeks, leaving time each night so that Lagertha could teach Athelstan a little more of fighting. At the end of the twelfth day, they came to the edge of a wide lake, and Athelstan took the rare opportunity to wash.

The water was cold, and still enough that Athelstan could see his face reflected in it, like a creature looking up out of the depths. His beard had grown more wild over these last weeks, and he scarcely looked like himself. It was a strange feeling; he did not think he liked it.

He dressed and returned to the shore for a short knife, intending to make his reflection familiar again, but Lagertha stopped him. "Leave it," she said. "It will help if you do not look quite so different from a Northman."

Athelstan thought it would take rather more than a beard to make him resemble a proper Northman, but he laid the knife aside without question. "As you say, my lady."

"And perhaps you should not call me _my lady_. It is not the usual way for a husband to address his wife."

Athelstan frowned. "Then what am I to call you? I do not think I could call you _wife_."

"No, you would give us away with the blush that stained your cheeks."

He would not have put it in quite such terms, but it was true, nevertheless.

"You might try _Lagertha_ ," she said with a smile.

"Will we be safe, using our own names?"

"We may not be safe anywhere," Lagertha said. "But I fear it would be still more dangerous for us to take on other names that we might forget in an idle moment."

Athelstan nodded.

"Now..." Lagertha eyed the lake with determination. "I believe I would like fish for supper, husband."

 

Catching fish without a net or fishing spear was more difficult than they had expected. In the end, Athelstan slipped and fell three times, nearly taking Lagertha down with him once, and they ended up with only two bony fish for their supper.

Still, it was a change from the salted meat they had been eating for days on end, and Athelstan's heart felt lighter than it had since they left Kattegat. His clothes were wet from falling, and when he shivered in the wake of the setting sun, Lagertha draped a blanket around his shoulders. Her hands lingered there, warm against his chilled skin, and Athelstan allowed himself, for one brief moment, to enjoy it. To silence the constant echo of guilt inside his head and imagine that there was no shame in taking such comfort.

That was when three men stepped out of the edge of the forest.

Lagertha rose to her feet and Athelstan followed, letting the blanket fall. Lagertha's axe was tucked into her belt at the small of her back, invisible to the approaching men. They would not expect her to be armed.

Athelstan's axe lay on his bedroll, six feet and a thousand miles away.

"Good evening," Lagertha said. Her voice was cool but not unfriendly. It was clear enough that she meant to avoid a confrontation if she could.

The first man smiled. "A very good evening indeed," he said.

"We have little comfort to offer, but will you share our fire?"

His smile widened. "Oh, I think you could comfort us well enough," he said. He turned to his two companions. "Take the woman, kill the--"

Before he could finish his command, Lagertha pulled the axe from her belt and swung it in a short, vicious arc that gutted the leader and evened the fight. Immediately, the other two drew their weapons. One set upon Lagertha with a curse, and the other turned to Athelstan.

He ducked the man's first blow and dove for his axe, rising to his feet just in time to block the next swing of his opponent's sword. His body remembered the lessons that his mind was too wild to consider--block, dodge, strike. Use every advantage, every opportunity.

The man had a greater reach and a greater strength, and Athelstan knew that his only prayer lay in guile--or in the hope that Lagertha dispatched her enemy more quickly, and could come to his aid.

Athelstan blocked a flurry of attacks, knowing as he did that he was being driven back towards the lake, where he would have no hope of retreat. They passed the dying coals of the campfire, and Athelstan was struck with a sudden, desperate plan.

He kicked at the fire, sending a flurry of sparks into his opponent's face. Blinded, the man took a stumbling step backwards, and Athelstan brought his axe up to slash across his throat.

Blood spattered Athelstan's face and hands as the man fell, shock fading from his eyes.  Athelstan's mind rebelled at the thought of what he'd done, and he might have collapsed under the weight of his own guilt, save for the one thought that made him grip the axe tighter and look up.

_Lagertha_.

He found her standing over the body of her own opponent, watching Athelstan with approval.

"Well-fought," she said. There was pride in her voice, and a trace of a smile on her lips.

Athelstan's mind spun, and his body felt heavy and weak. _Non occides_. It was the simplest of the commandments: _Thou shalt not kill_. He had tried so very hard to keep those commandments, here among the Northmen, and now he had broken the most fundamental of them all.

The axe dropped from hands that shook too badly to hold it, hands that were covered in blood. Athelstan turned away, back to the lake. He had to wash the blood away, to scrub it from his skin as he wanted to scrub the memory of the battle from his mind.

"Athelstan? _Athelstan_."

He was standing in the lake, the water as high as his chest. It was bitingly cold, but he had no memory of walking into the water.

"Come back," she said, very gently.

Slowly, he turned and made his way back to the shore.

Lagertha led him to the remains of their fire and guided him down to sit beside it. The blanket that she had given him a thousand years ago was wrapped around his shoulders again, and a brief, chaste kiss pressed to his temple. "Stay here," she said.

Athelstan stared into dying fire until his eyes watered and burned with the smoke. When Lagertha sat beside him, he looked up.

The bodies that had been lying around the fire were gone; he did not know what Lagertha had done with them, and he felt another wave of guilt--this time, that he had not helped her.

He should get up and rebuild the fire; it was nothing more than a faint glow, now. He had nearly put it out entirely when he'd used it to distract the raider and--

He thought perhaps he might be sick.

"Are you--" He forced the words out through chattering teeth. "Are you hurt?"

"No, but you are."

He shook his head. "No. No, the blood--it isn't mine, it--"

Lagertha touched a patch of red on his arm, and Athelstan gasped. "Some of it is," she said calmly. "Take off your shirt, and let me see how bad it is."

Athelstan removed his tunic, now overly conscious of the sharp pain along his left arm. He had not even felt the blow when it had happened. He could not force himself to look as Lagertha prodded the cut.

She laughed. "I have seen thorn-bushes do more damage," she said. "I fear you will not have much of a scar to boast of." She washed away the blood and bound the wound with a length of woolen cloth cut from the hem of Athelstan's spare tunic. "There. It should not trouble you."

That was good--he had more than enough things to trouble him just now.

"Athelstan?"

"I have never killed a man before," he said dully.

"I am not surprised. Yet you take to it well--you did just as I taught you."

He flinched.

"What troubles you?"

"To kill a man is a grievous sin," Athelstan said.

"A _sin_ ," she echoed derisively. "Your god is strange. How could he condemn you for such a thing? Those men would have killed us. You know that."

"Yes."

"Does your god not have warriors who fight for him?"

Athelstan considered David--and Saul and Samson and Joshua. But they had all been called by God, _inspired_ to their greatness. Athelstan had simply been trying to stay alive. "I am no warrior," he said at last.

"You defeated a raider who had been _raised_ to battle, when you had been learning for only days. We may make a warrior of you yet."

"I cheated."

"You used every advantage, like I taught you. I am proud of you."

He shook his head. He did not think he had ever been so tired in his life.

"It will get easier to bear."

Athelstan doubted that.

"Sleep," Lagertha said at last. "We will move on in the morning."

 

* * *

 

He tried to sleep--that night, and the nights that followed. But each time he closed his eyes he saw the flash of embers, tasted iron, felt the sticky smear of blood on his hands. By the fourth day he was walking in a daze, stumbling helplessly over roots and rocks he might have avoided with ease--if not with grace--before the night the raiders came.

That evening, Lagertha called an early halt, and they made camp. She busied herself with checking the bandage on Athelstan's arm, and pronounced it 'a passable scar.'

"I feared you were taking fever," she said, and her lips were tight and pale.

Athelstan winced. Of course she would have worried; fever had already taken half of what was most precious to her. "I did not mean to frighten you."

"You have not slept, have you?"

"I have _tried_ ," he said, and it was true enough. But even when he chanced to drift off, he always awakened with a start to the phantom feel of blood drying on his skin.

"Do you dream?"

He looked away, and nodded.

"That is not so strange. The dreams will pass."

"I don't want them to pass," Athelstan muttered. "I deserve them."

"Because of your _sin_?" Lagertha asked. "What is it you seek from your god, Athelstan? Forgiveness or punishment? You fought to save my life as well as your own. That should balance out the sin of killing the man, should it not?"

He shook his head. "I fear the monks at Lindisfarne would disagree with you," he said, but his tongue felt heavy and slow, and he could not find the words to explain their reasonings.

And it did not matter, of course, because the monks of Lindisfarne were dead. He was, perhaps, the only survivor, and the things that he had done to preserve his life had likely damned him long before now. The raider's death was nothing more than a confirmation of what he had long suspected.

Lagertha took the bedroll from Athelstan's pack and laid it on the mossy ground. "We will not move from here until you are rested," she said, and there was a grim finality to her words. "So you had better try harder. _Now_ ," she added, when he made to rise.

He frowned. "But--your supper..."

"I am more than capable of making my own supper."

He moved to sit on the bedroll. "I know, but--there are so few ways that I can make myself useful..."

She frowned at him. "Do you think I will leave you behind if you are not _useful_ to me?"

He cast his eyes down, and that was answer enough.

She held up her hand; the ring on her finger shone in the light of the setting sun. "We are bound to each other, Athelstan. You chose to go with me, and I took you as my companion. Death itself is the only thing that will make me leave you."

"Oh."

She pressed a hand to his shoulder to push him back. " _Sleep_ , priest."

Obediently, Athelstan lay back and closed his eyes. "Husband," he reminded her.

Lagertha's chuckle was the last thing he heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should not have taken as long to write as it did. Sorry about that. :) It's looking like there are two more parts to this, and a possible epilogue. Thanks for sticking around.
> 
> Come say hi at my [tumblr](http://thelibrarina.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

>   * Title adapted from "[The Wanderer](http://www.msschafer.com/TheWanderer.html)" because I'm convinced that Athelstan is the poem's anonymous author. /irrelevant
>   * Any information on Viking life not found in the show has probably been lifted from [The Viking Answer Lady](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/index.shtml), who is indispensable when it comes to writing Vikings fic.
>   * I'm [thelibrarina](http://thelibrarina.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. Come say hi!
> 



End file.
